The cart shakes. Hooves beat a steady rhythm. Every time the wheels bite stone, it jolts up her spine. Saki lies on her side. The wooden floor is cold against her cheek. Her uniform shirt is still filthy. Her torn skirt exposes her knees. She can't tell if her eyes are open or closed. She's thirsty. No—more than that—she's starving. Her stomach twists from the inside. Yesterday. The day before. Gallon gave her nothing but water. Not even a palmful of dried meat. "Be grateful for the water." The voice drops down from the driver's seat. She has no strength to turn. Gallon holds the reins in one hand. He gnaws on dried meat with the other. The sound grates in her ears. "[whispers]Why..." Her voice won't form. Her lips are cracked. Her tongue sticks. "Too fat or too thin, the price drops. You're just right now." No malice in Gallon's voice. He's just explaining business logic. That's all. Saki touches her neck. Her fingertips find swollen skin—the slave brand. A dull, throbbing pain has pulsed there since last night. A cursed mark that asserts its existence with every movement. "Humans last five days on water alone. Don't worry." Gallon says it with a smile. Grease from the dried meat glistens on his lips. Saki tries to say something. No voice comes. Heat builds behind her eyes. Then dries instantly. Maybe she doesn't even have the moisture left for tears. —How long have they been traveling? The hoofbeats slow. The wagon stops. "Gonna grab a meal. You stay put." The driver's seat creaks. Heavy footsteps fade away. A tavern door opens. Closes. Silence. Saki opens her eyes. A small post town. Wooden houses line the street. Horse dung and straw litter the cobblestones. The afternoon sun is white. Painful. —A smell. Fresh-baked bread. Her stomach convulses. Saliva floods her mouth—no. Not saliva. Sour stomach acid surges up instead. Saki's body moves on its own. She crawls to the edge of the cart. Just her arms. Dragging herself. The wooden floor scrapes her fingertips. Splinters dig in. She doesn't care. The moment her feet touch the ground—heat sears her neck. The brand sends a warning. She's away from Gallon. Only a few meters. But the brand already senses the master's absence. It hurts. But more than that—the smell of bread drives her mad. She crawls toward the source. Cobblestones scrape her knees. Passersby say something. She can't hear them. At the edge of her vision, she sees the tavern sign where Gallon entered—close. Very close. Hurry. A wooden shelf sits in front of the bakery. On it—bread. Round. Browned. Steaming. Saki reaches for the shelf. She can't reach. Her fingertips swipe empty air. She collapses right there. "Please... bread..." She doesn't recognize her own voice. —Creak. A middle-aged man emerges from the back of the shop. Flour stains on his apron. Thick arms folded. He looks down at Saki, appraising her. His gaze stops at the brand on her neck. "A runaway slave." "[scared]N-no..." "You got money?" The baker's voice is cold. Saki shakes her head. "I see." The baker steps back into the shop. Dim interior. Shadows of shelves. The storage room door is slightly ajar. "No money, then pay with your body." Saki's thoughts stop. "That's the rule of this world. You wanna survive, you offer what you can." She tried to refuse. Tried to shake her head. But—her stomach hurt like it was being eaten from the inside. The smell of bread overwrites everything. "You don't have time. Before that slave trader comes back." Saki couldn't stand. She crawls toward the storage room. The floor is cold stone. Flour and mold smells mingle. The baker stands before her. Beneath his apron, a bulge at his crotch. "Suck it." Saki's hands tremble. Memories of her old world flicker in her head. Lewd videos she watched on her phone late at night. Back then, it was just curiosity. (No way I'm actually doing this.) With shaking fingers, she pulls down the baker's pants. Shifts his underwear aside. An exposed cock appears before her eyes. Half-erect. Sweat and urine smells mingle. Stifling. Saki's stomach convulses again—not from hunger this time. From disgust. "Hurry up. The bread's getting cold." The baker's hand grabs the back of Saki's head. Forces her face closer. Her lips touch the glans. Lukewarm. Salty. Saki opens her mouth. Knowledge from those videos—don't use teeth. Wrap it with your tongue. Angle it so it doesn't hit the back of your throat— "Nn..." The cock swells inside her mouth. Saliva overflows. Drips from the corner of her lips. The tip hits the back of her throat. She nearly gags. The baker starts moving his hips. The penis slides in and out of Saki's mouth. She can't breathe. Desperately sucks air through her nose. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes. "Not bad at all." The baker's voice sounds distant. Saki focuses only on not using her teeth. If she bites, she dies—that instinct alone drives her. How long did it last? Just as Saki's jaw feels about to dislocate, the baker's movements quicken. His breathing grows ragged. "I'm cumming." Short words. The next moment—thick liquid floods her mouth. Fishy. Bitter. Semen. "Nguh..." She chokes. Coughs. The cum clings to her throat. She wants to spit it out. But the baker is watching. Saki closes her eyes. Swallows. Her throat clicks. Her stomach screams it won't accept this. But she couldn't throw up. There's nothing inside her. "Well done." The baker pulls up his pants. Takes a single bread roll from the shelf. Round. Browned on the surface. Still faintly warm. He hands it over. "Come back next time you're hungry." Saki clutches the bread. Crawls out of the storage room. Her knees are shaking. The fishy taste still lingers in her mouth. —I have to go back. The brand's pain is intensifying. Gallon might return. Saki crawls toward the cart. Focused only on not dropping the bread in her hand. She reaches the cart. Collapses onto it. Her breathing is ragged. Her heart pounds. She stares at the bread in her hand. She bites. It tastes of wheat. A little salty. Soft. Delicious. Delicious—and yet. Tears overflow. "[crying]Why..." Saki eats the bread while crying. Her hunger is satisfied. But something deep in her chest breaks with an audible crack. (I chose this. Myself.) (To survive.) (The me from my old world would never...) The more she thinks, the more the tears won't stop. The taste of semen in her mouth mixes with the bread. She wants to vomit—yet her body still craves the bread. Bite. Swallow. Bite. Swallow. She forces down the last mouthful. She stares at the crumbs left in her palm. (This was the right thing.) She tells herself that. But the words are too light. They vanish instantly. —The driver's seat creaks. "Well, belly's full. Time to head out." Gallon is back. Saki hurriedly wipes her mouth. Lies face down, pretending to sleep. So he won't see the tear tracks. "Oh, you're alive." Gallon's voice still holds no malice. Just the tone of a man relieved his merchandise is intact. The wagon starts moving. The hoofbeats resume their steady rhythm. Saki closes her eyes. The dark storage room of the bakery is burned into the back of her eyelids. The smell of flour. The smell of a man's sweat. The taste of semen. (I'm already—) She quietly licks the breadcrumbs from her palm. Just the faintest trace of salt. That was the proof of her choice. Saki exhales a small breath. Surrendering her body to the wagon's sway, she understands with painful clarity that something inside her has changed. To survive in this world, she chose survival over pride. That fact alone sank heavy and cold to the pit of her stomach.